


Best Unintentions

by Deejaymil



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Multi, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prompt Fill, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 15:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9078553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: It's the perfect plan. Not only does it mean they get to save poor Spencer from being presented to every remotely available single every time they go out, but it also means Emily gets one up on the hapless Derek Morgan. And Reid seems content to play along.
The catch?
They have to pretend they're dating Reid.
Yeah. All of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the /r/fanfiction December prompt challenge, run by the lovely Tafferling! The prompt for this round is:
> 
> The Prank
> 
> Capital T and capital P, because this shit almost moved mountains. Or ripped reality apart. Bring us your best (or worst) executed prank, no matter the format. Full on "heist" style, from conception to execution, the whole delicious montage of mischief? Just the spectacular execution? The aftermath?
> 
> We're thirsting to see what your character(s) will come up with.

The drunker they got Morgan, the more intent he was that the one thing Spencer was missing in his life was, to quote him verbatim, ‘a lotta’ lovin’.

Spencer did not agree with that statement.

“We should rescue him,” Emily said, leaning back in her seat and sucking noisily at her straw. “He looks distressed. If he was a cat, his hair would be all froofy.”

Spencer, just to help with the cat analogy, was backing away from the woman Morgan was trying to coax into dancing with him, his hands in front and shoulders stiff. JJ could almost see the bristling. Eyes darting about wildly; there was every possibility that he was about to make a dash for the nearest shadowy corner or cardboard box.

“You know what they say, we teach him to fish and he’ll be drowning in salmon, yadda yadda,” Garcia said, peering around at him. JJ blinked at her, nonplussed. “I mean, if we rescue him now, Morgan is just going to get him next time… and the time after… and the time after…”

“Fair point.” Emily abandoned the straw to slurp at the edge of the glass. Always charming, their Emily. “Alright, so we distract Morgan. Boom, we have a pet Reid so grateful that Morgan isn’t trying to sell him off for twelve cows and a goose he’ll probably cover our paperwork for a month.”

“Being dead has changed you,” JJ scolded her. “Shouldn’t we be helping Spence out of the goodness of our hearts?”

Emily shrugged, her eyes turning sharp and cunning. JJ, very suddenly, felt sorry for her mother. And very glad that Spencer was Henry’s babysitter, and not Emily. The worst her son seemed to pick up from Spencer was a passionate obsession with right angles. “What does Morgan like?”

“Ladies,” Garcia answered promptly. “Muscles, dogs, ah. Me.”

“His job,” JJ offered, unwilling to commit to this question in case Emily led them all down a dark and kinky path that Garcia would probably happily follow.

“Winning,” Emily said, finishing her drink and popping the cherry into her mouth, before standing and pressing two fingers in after the cherry, whistling shrilly. The bar paused for a moment. JJ saw Hotch and Rossi both snap their heads around to stare, Hotch getting the hundred-year kind of war-torn gleam to his eyes that suggested he knew they were about to be childish. “Derek! Here!”

Derek, to his credit, came. Leaving Reid alone, who took the chance to bolt to the safety of Mama Rossi’s relatively un-wingmanning side.

“You whistled?” he asked, and JJ wondered where this was going. Wondered if she should be here witnessing this. Considered joining Spence and Hotch and—

“What fun is happening over here, children?” Rossi boomed, sliding up behind Morgan like he’d been there all along. “Aaron’s ears are turning red, which is a sure sign one of you is being wonderful. He’s preternatural about youthful pranks, he really is.”

“Just thought we should call Morgan off of Reid, you know…” Emily paused, tongue flickering over the straw, drawing it into her mouth so she could chew thoughtfully on it while maintaining meaningful eye-contact with each of them. “… considering, _you know_.”

None of them knew. Emily just smiled, and waited, and waited, while Morgan’s face scrunched up tighter and Garcia’s mouth slipped open in confusion and Rossi—

“Ah, yes,” he said, and clapped Morgan on the back. “Well, that particular sweater-vested horse has already left the yard, Morgan. You may want to set your sights on someone a little more available!”

Morgan stared. “Reid’s with someone?” he asked, and looked at JJ. The sensible one. The one who would never betray him by going along with anything Emily Prentiss or, especially, David Rossi thought was a good idea.

“Yes,” she said, taking temporary leave of her senses. She paused, a little uncertain for a heartbeat, and glanced over to where Reid was peering curiously around Hotch to eye them. His gaze skipped over Morgan, winced a little, and she felt… well, damnit, Spencer would find what he was looking for _when he was looking for it, Morgan,_ and not a minute before! “It’s… well, we’re not supposed to talk about it, Derek. We’re not even supposed to _know_.”

“Super hush hush,” Garcia added, beaming brightly, and made a zipping motion over her mouth. “If you ask Reid, he won’t even _talk_ about it, that’s how hush hush it is.”

Morgan stared, pole-axed. “Wha…” he stammered, clearly calculating how many drinks he’d had to decide if this was actually happening. JJ felt a _little_ bad. But only a little—he really shouldn’t be so pushy with Spence. “Why… why is it…” His eyes widened. “It’s someone he _works_ with.” His eyes scanned them all, and they all smiled back innocently. “ _Who_?!”

“Shh,” Emily repeated, and put her glass down with a satisfied _clink_. “We really can’t say, Derek.”

Morgan turned and strode away, going straight for the poor, unsuspecting Reid. Emily watched him go, pulling out her phone and tapping away busily.

“So,” Rossi said into the quiet half-amused silence that followed that snowballing avalanche of events. “Twenty bucks we can keep him going on this before Aaron shuts us down.”

“Dave…” JJ said, disapproving.

“Forty,” Emily said, her phone going _boop_. “And you’re on.”

JJ was beginning to get the feeling she’d lost control of the situation.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’ve done this.” Reid stared in absolute horror at Garcia’s screens, each of which displayed a _different_ beautifully photoshopped holiday snapshot. “Why, _why_ , are you photoshopping me and Rossi _hugging_?”

“Look how happy you are!” Garcia crooned, adding a jolly little hat to one of them standing at the entranceway of a sprawling villa, vineyards stretching behind them. The Reid in the photo looked absolutely joyful.

The Reid behind her really didn’t.

Aw.

“If you’re super uncomfortable with this, hun, I can totally make them subtler—”

“Like anyone will believe them if they’re subtle,” Emily cut in. Garcia was beginning to get the feeling Emily was enjoying this _far_ too much. There was a smug kind of catlike glee hovering around her that just really showed how much the woman relished getting one up on poor Derek. “This _is_ Rossi we’re talking about.”

“I’m being sold out,” Reid was moaning, mostly to himself, curled into a huddled little sad ball of sadness with the poutiest pout Garcia had ever seen on a man, or a puppy. Emily, luckily, wasn’t looking at him. Garcia was _sure_ that if one iota of that pout reached even the stone-hearted Prentiss, this bet would be over in a heartbeat. Reid, clearly unaware of this, hid the pout with record speed as soon as Emily glanced at him, his face returning to its usual state of perpetual woefulness. “I don’t understand how this is so _funny_ to you.”

“It’s also Reid we’re talking about,” Garcia offered, as Emily frowned at Reid as though sensing his extra-moroseness today. “He’s not really… well, sorry, but… romantic?”

Emily snorted as Reid protested, “I’m romantic! I’m the most romantic—what foundation are you basing the claim that I’m not romantic on? I mean, those photos, you had to have gotten them from _somewhere_ in order to butcher… where _did_ you get those photos of me?”

“Last year’s Christmas party,” Emily said casually, patting his knee. “We got you drunk on wine coolers and you turned out to be _really_ touchy.”

“Super huggy,” Garcia added, beaming at the memory. “It was adorable. I didn’t know we had pictures though.”

“They were on my phone,” Emily replied absently, leaning back to the screens. “Oooh, can you make them look a little tanned? If Reid doesn’t mind, anyway.” Reid did look like he minded, but there was an eager kind of excitement on Emily’s face as she looked at Garcia that he studied before answering.

“I get half the proceeds,” he muttered, sinking back against the wall. “This is ridiculous. Hotch is going to have a _fit_.”

“Likely,” Emily said cheerfully, as Garcia printed out snapshot sized copies. “Now, gimme your wallet, kiddo.” Reid did, but he made it obvious it was under protest. A little _too_ obvious, Garcia thought watching him. Maybe he wasn’t hating this as much as he might want them to think.

Anyone watching him casually flip open his wallet later to give Morgan money for lunch might have thought he was thoroughly enjoying himself, agile fingers only allowing the other man the merest tantalizing glimpse of the picture within. And it was entirely his idea to linger by Rossi’s door looking innocent later that night, before slipping inside. Morgan watched with an expression that could only be described as the pure distilment of the word _what_ on his face, but Reid didn’t emerge.

All in all, Reid was turning out to be oddly… compliant.

_Hmm_ , thought Garcia, and put her mind to figuring out this new puzzle.

 

* * *

 

“I’m just saying, you could totally spin it. Open minded woman like you…” Rossi paused, humming over the current topic. They’d gently skirted the edges of ‘irresponsible’ so far, but this was probably dancing with one toe over the ‘HR complaint’ line. Then, like generations of Rossis before him, he charged fearlessly onwards. “And Will. He seems like the sort.”

JJ lifted her head from her casefile, nose wrinkled but blue eyes glinting. Across the table, Garcia’s face was the clearest _oh my god this is fantastic_ Rossi had ever seen, and Reid’s countenance was oddly blank. Like the computer hard drive he used as a brain had blue screened and restarted in a panic at the first casual insertion of the words ‘polygamous relationship with Spencer’ into the conversation.

“Please stop,” he whispered, skin paling and eyes wide. Rossi almost snorted, imagining steam whistling out of the poor kid’s ears as he tried _not_ to imagine what Rossi was suggesting.

“Oh, it’s not that we’re not _open_ ,” JJ said, now looking to Reid with her mouth twitching. The man jolted, turning to stare at her. “I’m kidding, Spence. Dave, no. We’re not going to try to convince Morgan that Spence is our… plus three.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Rossi bent back over his paperwork, pen scratching. “I don’t think Morgan would believe Reid is anything but vanilla, anyway.”

Silence followed. Rossi looked up into that silence, curious, to see Reid looking at nothing in particular with his ears and cheeks a delicious shade of ‘not saying a thing, not even going to look at you’ red.

“Don’t,” Mama JJ warned, and Rossi swore inwardly as he realized his face must have betrayed the utter _glee_ he felt at this. _Oooh, Spencer Reid, you kinky little shit,_ he thought in delight, inching forward on his chair.

“Oh, we all have kinks,” Garcia was exclaiming from her side of the table, and that was a road that Rossi, as a responsible adult, should probably guide them all away from. But _damnit,_ he kind of wanted to know… “I mean, this one time this dude rocked out a bassoon in the bedroom and wow—”

“What was he doing with the bass—” Reid began, blinking.

“Okay, hey, look another terrible crime that needs to be archived,” JJ said firmly, shoved cases towards Rossi. “No amount of mon—ah, yes. Dinner tonight, right, Spence?”

“Huh?” Reid swivelled his head around to look at her, confused. Morgan nudged the door open behind him, using his hip to lever his way in as he entered with another armful of cold cases.

“For dinner.” JJ gave her most winning smile, one that had even _Rossi’s_ heart doing a quick skip-hop of interest that he’d never admit to. A pretty smile was a pretty smile, he wasn’t immune. He was oldish, not dead. “With me and Will… you know.”

A wink.

Reid and Rossi both swallowed.

Morgan’s eyes skipped from one to the other. “Oh hey, dinner sounds nice,” he said, smiling. “Man, I wish someone would make me dinner.”

“Maybe one day if you’re really, _really_ good,” JJ said with a smirk that was more Prentiss than her, standing and trailing her hand across Reid’s shoulder before sashaying out of the room. Reid tilted his head to the side, eyes blank, rebooting once more. “Wear that shirt, Spence. It’s our _favourite_.”

And she was gone.

Morgan stared really hard at Reid, who stared really hard at nothing at all, and Rossi wondered how much of his winnings he was going to have to spend on alcohol to fix the no doubt extensive mental damage they were causing the poor kid.

 

* * *

 

The jet was the exhausted kind of quiet that only came after a gruelling case. Everyone else was asleep, except for Morgan bobbing his head quietly along to his music across the aisle and Reid paging restlessly through a book on the couch.

And it was childish, but she couldn’t resist. Walking back from the bathroom, she slipped onto the couch next to Reid in the space he automatically shifted aside to make for her and peered down at his book. Knowing Morgan’s eyes were on them, she cocked her mouth around so Reid’s ear would mask it, murmuring, “Think he suspects?”

“I think he’s very confused,” Reid replied, tapping his finger once on the page and flipping it over when she nodded. They read the next one together. “How long are you going to keep him hanging?”

Emily shrugged. “I thought by now Hotch would have stopped us,” she admitted, thumping back against the couch cushions as any energy she’d had leeched away suddenly. Reid slipped back, providing a firm side for her to lean against and a shoulder to pillow her head on. “Mm. Thanks.”

“It’s fine,” he murmured, continuing to page through his book, at his own speed now. His fingers shook slightly.

“You okay?” she asked, flickering her eyes open to spot that minute tremble. “Hey, look. We were doing this as a laugh, but if you’re not comfortable anymore…”

“It’s fine,” he replied, twitchy, jerking his head around to talk to her directly and accidentally brushing his mouth against her hair.

The touch was electric, and she jolted with it. Felt it buzz on her skin and hum down her neck.

_You really need to get laid,_ she scolded herself, ashamed that she’d jumped. Reid was leaning away, clearly very aware of her reaction, and he couldn’t quite hide the hurt on his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled, snicking the book shut. Silence lapsed between them. Morgan kept glancing up and back down at his lap, brows threading.

Opening her mouth to say something, Reid made a soft noise. She stopped. Looked at him.

Smiled as she realized he was falling asleep, barely on the cusp, and rearranged herself against his shoulder so he could curl more comfortably down. She’d talk to him after… after resting her eyes for a bit…

And blinked awake to Reid awake and the jet descending. The others moved around them, speaking in the soft, croaky voices of the truly tired. She wiped her mouth, wincing at the damp spot on his shoulder, and he shook a little as he chuckled.

“It’s alright, Em,” he replied, and brushed his mouth against her hair before standing, joints popping as he stretched like a cat. She stared. Stared at the curve of his spine as he arched, the flex of muscles in his arms. And down, at his coat across her lap like a blanket, her head still groggy and uncertain. “You looked like you needed the nap…” He lowered his voice. “…and anything to win, right? He’ll be thoroughly puzzled by that, for sure. Who wouldn’t be?”

When he walked away, she had the sudden disconcerting feeling that somewhere, somehow, she’d fucked up.

 

* * *

 

This was incredibly unprofessional. Downright dishonourable. Profoundly unethical.

But Dave had promised him _so_ much paperwork if he did it. And Hotch knew that the man was always at least seven months behind on important casework. If they could get even three of those months caught up, Hotch would halve the amount of frustrated memos on his desk every morning from accounts.

And that was why he was playing along.

Honestly.

_Are you sure you’re okay with this?_ he’d texted Reid before participating, only slightly reassured by the affirmative answer he received. _Very well._

“Ah, Reid,” he said calmly, walking down the stairs to his desk, knowing Morgan was watching. Feeling a little sorry for the man with no idea that the entire team of federal toddlers—and Hotch _refused_ to admit he might be enabling them a little—were ranged against him. But really, it was a relief to have him not trying desperately to find Reid prospective partners. Not just for Reid, but for the rest of them as well, since none of them had to deal with the ripple effects of an antsy Reid and frustrated Morgan bouncing off of one another. “You left this at my house last night.”

He handed the neatly folded shirt over with a shy kind of smile that might be overdoing it just a little, but had every agent in the vicinity staring. “I ironed it for you,” he added, figuring he was already in for a penny, “Good day.”

And he walked off without another word.

Really, this had to end soon. One way or another, someone was going to crack.

His money was on Morgan.

 

* * *

 

Apparently, it was Emily’s turn to be his ‘date of the night’. She stuck close, her fingers always jut a tantalizing heartbeat away from tangling around his, and her posture slipping further and further into ‘aggressively shitty’ territory as she consumed further alcoholic drinks. He did what he was supposed to. He inched closer to her, thigh to thigh, and kept her steady. And the one thing Reid did _not_ do… was overthink this.

Nope. No overthinking at all. In fact, just to _make sure_ he wasn’t overthinking, he kept pace with her steady consumption. If he was drunk, he couldn’t overthink. And Morgan would _have_ to be convinced by this.

Reid flattened his palm against the tabletop as Emily laughed at something JJ was saying. He marvelled at the texture, almost skidded forward onto it, and barely caught himself in time to stop from face planting onto that wonderfully smooth surface. He’d missed something. Some joke. Never mind.

Morgan wasn’t there. Off dancing.

A hand slipped over his thigh, fingers tracing lines on the inner seam of his pants, and he almost groaned out loud. _Why_ must she do this! It was fine with Rossi or Hotch or even JJ because he _knew_ they were just playing along. But with Emily?

She might just be playing along, but if he was being completely honest with himself…

The only reason he was still playing along was because he didn’t want her to stop.

“You coward,” he breathed to himself, knuckles brushing the wet glass of his drink, before gulping it down. When he opened his eyes, Emily was looking oddly at him.

“You okay?” she asked, and he considered saying _no_. The music thumped. He considered saying _I don’t know what we’re doing anymore_. The booth tipped around him.

He considered saying _I think I’ve accidentally convinced myself that I’m in love with you._

But Morgan bounded back, face wide and excited and happy, and Emily slung her arms around Reid’s shoulders and bellowed something about dancing. And he wondered if she really wanted to. Wondered if this was still the bet. Led her out to the dancefloor anyway, JJ watching them and frowning.

“You’re a bit drunk,” Emily laughed, catching him as his foot skidded on the over-slick surface.

“I’m always clumsy,” he replied. She was warm under his palms. Warm and soft and hard and lovely and, shit, he was in over his head. “And I’m not drunk.”

“Pssh,” was her reply, and she held her hand in front of his nose. “Focus on my fingers, Dr. Stone Cold Sober.”

He tried. Then he forgot.

He leaned forward and kissed them instead. In the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by strangers, he kissed her hand and then he pushed it aside and kissed her, just to see.

And there it was. Beyond her shock frozen face, beyond the gentle pressure of her lips.

The swooping kick-stop of his heart working things out.

“Shit,” he mumbled into her mouth, and kissed her again once more just to be sure. This time she responded, almost eager, her breath beer-sour and hair fine between his fingers. They broke apart, gasping and dizzy and flushing hot-cold with every different kind of want. He choked out, “I’m done. Game over.”

“Huh?” she asked, blinking.

He thought of asking her if this was worth it. Instead, he turned and walked away without his coat, the door of the bar banging shut behind him. He didn’t expect her to follow. He could hear Morgan’s voice; a loud “You utter shitheads. You were _playing_ me,” and he saw him waylay her on the way out. They’d pay up, finish the bet, drink to celebrate it. Morgan would rant then he’d laugh and then they’d move on. He didn’t expect her to follow.

But she did.

“That wasn’t because of the bet, was it?” she called after him. He turned, slowly, and she was standing too close with his coat in her arms. “That kiss. No fucking way was that because of a bet. You _meant_ that.”

He blinked. Maybe he was a little drunk. “So, what if I did?” he snapped, savagely. “What would you do?”

She stepped closer.

Kick-stop went his heart.

“This,” she said plainly, and kissed him. Kept kissing him. Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not the cold. Not the giddy whirl of his silly drunk brain. Not the shouts of their team as they tumbled from the bar—Morgan laughing loudly and calling out _come on you two, I know now! You don’t need to keep it up!_ Not even Rossi and the others leading him away, eyes wide, or JJ’s soft _oh_ , as though she’d worked out something she’d been confused by all along.

Nothing.

Reid rather thought he might have won after all.

 

* * *

 

Morgan held up his glass, all eyes on him. “And I just want to say,” he finished slowly, “how goddamn proud I am to call Spence my little brother… and how much it means to me that I get to stand here today and tell everyone that. You deserve this, man. You and Emily both.” He sat, mouth dry and eyes oddly damp. Two seats up, Reid and Prentiss were both looking flushed and glassy-eyed. Not an unusual look on Reid, definitely unnerving on Prentiss.

But seeing Prentiss in the white dress walking up that aisle had already shot his quota for ‘weird stuff I’ve seen E. Prentiss do’ to shit, so crying a little at the best man’s speech was nothing, really.

“That was gorgeous, Derek,” Prentiss said finally, turning to him. There was a bright kind of happiness to her face that was soothing to see. Something… settled. Like she’d been worried this was something she might lose until this moment. It was almost as soothing as the placid longing visible in Reid’s face every time he looked at her. Which was _all_ the time.

Kid couldn’t look away, and Morgan didn’t blame him.

“Nah, it was nothing,” he said honestly. “But I swear to god, if this is just the culmination of the prank you started three years ago… I wouldn’t put it past you to get married just to mess with my head.” They laughed, Rossi snorting into his champagne. Hotch just looked weary, despite his wide smile.

“Oh, if that’s how you feel…” Prentiss began, with a wicked flutter of her eyelashes. Morgan froze, like the mouse before the snake. “…well, I guess there’s no point asking if you want to be godfather to this prank.”

Silence settled on the table. Reid chuckled, before his hand stilled on the tablecloth. “Wait, what?” he said, turning to her and paling. She winked, taking his hand.

Morgan settled back in his chair. Raised an eyebrow.

“You’re on,” he said finally, and couldn’t stop grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited August, 2017.**


End file.
